


Going In Circles

by cryptonomicon



Series: Pick Up The Pieces [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A Found Family Full Course Meal Rather Than Found Family Bait, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Bucky Barnes, Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Fuck Thaddeus Ross tho, Genius Shuri (Marvel), Hurt Stephen Strange, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Stephen Strange, Other, Protective Avengers, Romantic Friendship, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptonomicon/pseuds/cryptonomicon
Summary: Things likely never went according to plan for Steve because that wasn't how he approached them anymore. So far along in his life, he hadn't bothered to reconsider whatever became of his plans in a long while. Still, for all his bright ideas, any notions regarding Stephen Strange weren't anywhere close to the planning stage. They were, in fact, closer to complete bafflement than anything resembling concrete.Until he starts noticing a pattern between his beta, an unusual omega... and eventually himself.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Stephen Strange, Steve Rogers/Stephen Strange
Series: Pick Up The Pieces [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689883
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Going In Circles

It was an icy rain racing across the grounds at the compound that morning, curtains of water falling in slanting silver needles. The line between the mist in the woods and the clouds overhead was immutable, but Steve wished there could have been just a keyhole of blue sky at least to long after somewhere on the horizon.

Normally the rain didn’t bother him, but the cold tension in the building and outside of it was putting his already strained patience on edge. Even his mate’s scent, normally a welcome anchoring relief amid the bureaucratic muck, was sharp and worried.

That wasn’t quite true, Steve thought, internally recanting as he watched the steady power and ease Bucky’s movements exuded about the conference wing’s kitchenette. Bucky wasn’t worried, but he was tense.

Secretary Thaddeus Ross had a unique talent for making people tense. Steve had often wondered at it being an enhancement or mutation, if he weren’t already equally sure it was just the well-cultivated slime in the man’s veins.

When Bucky came back over, two mugs in hand, Steve could smell that the beta was still keeping a tight cork on his inner unease. Outwardly, he looked about as constipated as they were all about to feel, though he hid it in subtle grimaces that Tony’s luxury coffee could never deserve even when served stiff enough to stand a spoon in. 

“You ready for this?” he asked quietly. It was practically an Avengers team effort, this meeting, but the rallying of their friends and peers around them didn’t change the fact that it was still a thorn in the side of Bucky being able to return to a normal life. Or as normal a life as any of them would ever have, but Ross’ continued henpecking regarding Bucky’s re-naturalization was a vendetta Steve was especially impatient with.

“Relax, Steve. We all know that nothing’s going to come of it.”

Steve wasn’t fooled, but he took the mug from his mate when it was offered anyway. He and Bucky often traded places for putting on the brave face, and understandably today it was his beta rallying for courage. Steve was just rallying for patience.

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t still a monumental waste of time.”

Even unto his dying day, he could never deny the fact that when Strange showed up for Bucky’s status deposition with Ross, he didn’t immediately recognize him when he strode over to them. He was in a neat, obviously tailored gray blazer - or at least it had been at one point, though it fit him differently than how it had originally been cut - and a black collared shirt. The stretch of his long legs in tight, dark wash jeans had made him look more like some kind of legal shark rather than a superhero.

Based on Bucky’s expression, he was also somewhat jarred by the transition from his usual sorcerer garb. That was arguably more surprising to him, given the two of them had been spending pretty consistent time together, but Steve could grant that new acquaintanceship hardly meant knowing everything about someone. And they had all apparently missed out on Strange’s potential to give Tony a run for his money for looking good in a sportcoat.

“Well, well. What do you know, Houdini _does_ own real people clothes,” Sam’s voice interjected as the pilot sauntered in to join them. Strange quickly crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his ungloved hands out of sight.

Bucky gave a nigh imperceptibly quiet hum, but Steve caught it. It would have hinted at warning, if it had been loud enough for anyone else to hear.

“What, this old number? It was just something my magic wardrobe spat at me,” Stephen replied. Even Steve’s lackluster knowledge of him found the nonchalance in his response shallow, but they all had bigger fish to fry that day than the wizard’s vagaries. “I figured giving Ross one less reason to disregard me wasn’t a terrible idea.”

At that moment Steve’s phone buzzed, and he fished it out of his pocket as Sam grumbled something unflattering about Ross’ regard for any of them. “T’Challa and Shuri are conferencing in. We should probably go get settled before Ross decides to call twenty minutes early and catch us unawares,” he interrupted. He wished they had time for the banter, but with the storm came the thunderbolt, and not the usual godly kind he would have much preferred.

Strange snorted, succinctly voicing all of their feelings.

Sam fell into step next to him, a few paces behind Bucky and Strange. “Thanks for agreeing to confer on this,” he heard Bucky say to the sorcerer, and the other shrugged in response.

“It’s not a problem. I don’t blame Shuri for being tired of going round after round and getting almost nowhere against his little crusade. Laying the heat on him for this meeting will hopefully wrap up your last mandatory probationary assessment. When is that, next week?” His mate nodded, and Steve found himself watching their interaction closely.

Naturally, he knew that Strange had agreed to step up and be there for him as a member of Shuri’s approved contacts, but as the sorcerer unfolded his arms and the line of his shoulders loosened, he recognized that professional consultation wasn’t the extent of their rapport. 

Nine times out of ten, if Strange made an appearance at Avengers meetings at all, he was in his usual monkish getup and about as chatty as a sphynx. There were times when he seemed to revel in the mirth his strangeness inspired, as people ribbed it at his expense, but the only outright emotions he’d allowed to clear the breach between their forces were attentive patience and occasional amusement. 

In contrast, the effort of digging out an old but nice suit and being open and communicable were lengths he hadn’t gone to even for conference calls with Helen Cho and Stark Industries’ medical think tank. But he had for Bucky’s benefit, which was far from saying nothing even if what it did say was still unclear. 

To Steve, the man’s loyalties were opaque most of the time, save for rare moments like this one, where with cool openness he revealed little windows into himself. What those windows revealed on the whole, he had yet to determine.

Strange and Sam veered off when they got to the conference room, getting themselves mugs of coffee from the carafe on the tea tray in the corner as Bucky took his usual seat next to Steve’s at the head of the table. The line of the magician’s shoulders remained slack even as Sam made idle chatter with him, arguably the most at ease of them all. Bucky’ gaze followed him for a moment longer, until the kimoyo beads lit and cast up Shuri and T’Challa’s faces. 

_Keyholes_ , he thought again idly when Stephen sat across from Bucky, his light eyes now gleaming with focus. _Promises of a clear blue sky behind the clouds_. 

They’d only just settled in when Ross’ video line opened, and Steve took a slow, silent inhale before they exchanged greetings. One more meeting after this, and Bucky’s mental health was legally private again, he reminded himself. And the next one would be with the UN council, not just their most vociferous belly-acher.

“Gentlemen,” the secretary greeted, before his gaze flicked to the Wakandan delegation. “Your majesties. Let’s get down to business. I’ve been in talks with interested parties about Barnes’ final probationary report, and there are justifiable concerns I’ve been asked to address before the UN sub-council convenes on the matter next week.”

It took T’Challa preemptively clearing his throat at the same time Shuri scoffed for them to proceed with any sense of decorum.

After twenty-five minutes, the room that had been made for Ross’ “justifiable concerns” felt more like a hangar for unrelated reminders about their Accords culpability, which was also on the UN docket for the week following. It just happened to be dressed in enough thinly veiled references to the Winter Soldier’s activities to keep probably any other audience fooled. Capitol Hill probably lapped it up, but Steve had the distinct impression that it was making a particular appearance in his pitch not because of Bucky. For once. 

Sam had unsubtly moved the entire carafe of coffee to the center of the table during that stretch of seemingly endless time, and all of them were well into their second and third servings before Ross’ largely rhetorical diatribe was finally derailed.

“Secretary Ross, may I ask a question?” Stephen Strange’s cool voice sliced through the man’s running adage about his personal priorities regarding the case - the adage having been about as reliable as his account of his military career. The silence that followed the interruption was filled with all of them breathing out as subtly as possible.

“Please, Doctor.” Ross’ eyes were still pinched, his predictable temper still eager to fume at every available outlet. Steve settled back in his chair, sensing that Ross’ ire had just chosen the wrong tree to bark up. “Do go ahead.”

“Did you happen to read page two of Sergeant Barnes’ para-cognitive mental health assessment?” 

“I read the entire report.”

“Then you should remember that on page two, it was detailed - in quite plain summary so that you wouldn’t be inconvenienced by the remainder of the eighty-seven page assessment - that Sergeant Barnes’ overall mental health is having to be based on an exponential vector of altered brain chemistry not only due to his extended lifetime, but also to consistent illegal and torturous biochemical re-conditionings, the as-yet under-researched effects of multi-cryogenesis on brain tissue modified by the Erskine Program, and anticipated responsivity changes exacerbated in light of extended exposure to conflict circumstances.” Strange’s hands were folded placidly in his lap, his gaze fixated on Ross as the untouched copy of Bucky’s deposition sat on the table in front of him. “Though do excuse me - I think one line of that summary ran over onto page three. The next section on page three specifically details that his cognizance is maintaining exceptional traction in spite of said issues.”

A pin could have dropped, and the angel dancing on its head would have told it to shut the hell up.

Before Ross could even recover, Stephen continued, his words impeccably measured. “As I’m sure you’ve read and considered this at length, Secretary Ross, my question is: given the estimated proportional magnitude of said abuse compared to the reported veteran statistics, and the current systematic issues the American healthcare system has with caring for service-members, what would your preferred therapeutic approach be compared to what Sergeant Barnes has already been being treated with?” 

The old general stared him down for a moment, before turning ninety degrees and pacing authoritatively along the invisible head of the conference table. “Understandably, it’s come up in talks that there are going concerns about the United States harboring a certifiable weapon of mass destruction, known to have been created and controlled by fascist and communist influenced extremist groups in the past.” It took Steve swallowing down a long, slightly over-hot sip of coffee to keep from outright growling at that statement. Casual dehumanization had always raised his hackles, more so than ever when it came to his mate. “Considering his criminal record and the complex geopolitical history of his actions-”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Ross paused for a long moment, the pregnant kind of confusion Steve adored inspiring in statesmen coming across his face. Strange, on the other hand, was stonily patient. Frigid, to those in the room who could tell that his silence was as close to rage as perhaps he ever got. But Steve found it nice, oddly, for the ice in the air to be on their side for once. “Incarceration, as has been established by many other world powers and UN members aside from ourselves, is not a viable rehabilitation method. Particularly not for patients suffering from severe battlefield or service trauma. Therefore, I will ask again: what is your recommended _treatment_ approach?”

 _Back your way out of that one, you son of a bitch_ , Steve thought viciously.

The silence stretched around Ross’ stalling. “I would leave that to the crown princess’ discernment,” he finally said, and Steve might have gagged on the gerrymandering had he not been content at it being unnecessary. This obviously wasn’t Strange’s first walk in the park with official chicanery, and he had to admit he was impressed with the result.

“Then shut up and let us do our jobs!” Shuri finally shouted, so beautifically on cue with Stephen’s threatening smile that he had to hide his own guilty grin behind his hand. T’Challa finally looked away and breathed out slowly from where he’d been quietly stewing, arguably the greatest imminent threat of them all had Ross not accepted his already paltry loss. Shuri reveled in toying with her prey, picking them apart piece by piece. Older siblings didn’t work that way regardless of how much they respected and feared their younger siblings.

“Every measure that has been required by the UN for Sergeant Barnes’ re-integration into the United States has been met in excess,” the princess pushed on, and Bucky’s shoulders were loosening by the minute. He no longer looked like he was on the verge of gripping the table too hard and shattering it completely, which was considerable progress from less than five minutes ago. “Many in the UN have also been recapitulating on the treatment of empowered individuals should they be charged of global or international war-crimes by traditional criteria, correct? Or is that _not_ on the Accords amendments agenda for the talks in New York next week?”

The secretary demurred, deciding _finally_ that retreat was the safer course of action. Steve had no doubt he wouldn’t let it go, but apparently the lack of success for his tired old rhetoric was inclining him to cut his losses.

He looked over to Bucky, and the beta flashed him a relieved grin from one side of his mouth. Just a gentle upward tick of his lips, but it was enough for him. But then Bucky was looking over at the sorcerer, who met both of their gazes before hiding a wink from Ross’ eyeline.

When Ross signed off with nothing but a scant farewell, they all didn’t bother to cheer. Ross’ temporary defeat was the first pebble that would incite their landslide victory, but the last day wasn’t yet won. They would all have truly prodigious reason for celebration in a week’s time.

Still, even upon leaving the conference room, the steady rain seemed brighter somehow. A rite of spring, and Bucky’s humble laughter as Sam rallied his spirits reified that feeling.

Strange had forged on ahead, casually at first. But halfway into the common area he’d stopped, half-full mug in one hand and his phone in the other. And while Steve might not have been familiar with the man, he didn’t need an index on how to identify when the magician ran cold, having seen it first hand with Ross. Where just a moment ago he’d been lively if not outright smug, now he seemed to have frozen entirely, based on whatever news he’d gotten on his phone.

“I still think Shuri could have handled it on her own,” Steve commented casually, realizing perhaps too late that the comment probably wasn’t the kindest to break someone out of a stupor with.

The brunet flinched, but continued walking as he tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Of course she fucking could have,” Strange said, the scoff coming out harsh as he splashed the last of his cold coffee down the sink, dropped his mug into the dishwasher, and pulled the long golden ring off of his belt-loop. “But that doesn’t mean she should have to against a bunch of neo-fascist heel-dragging Capitol Hill career jockeys who think they know shit about the world they’ve created.”

The vitriol, he knew, wasn’t meant for him, though he was the unwitting audience to it. But there was something concerning about how white and drawn Stephen looked when he left through a hasty portal before any of them could bid him thanks or farewell. 

His hands had been shaking badly as he’d flexed them in and out of fists after he’d deposited his mug, and Steve was irritated to realize he couldn’t deduce even one explanation as to what in his life could inspire that kind of reaction. Most of the time he would have chalked it up to sorcererly secrecy, but with the favor he’d just paid his mate… that lack of care just didn’t feel sufficient in return.

He didn’t see Strange again until the next week, and when he did, the man was a lurid tapestry of bruises from his eye sockets all the way down to several splinted fingers. He declined to give live testimony given his state, but the smile he bore was genuine - if painful-looking over a split lip - as the designated lineup for Bucky’s testimonials milled outside the hearing room.

Bucky was too busy getting harangued into surety by Shuri and the rest of his professional and therapeutic witnesses to really spend a moment on Strange, but given the malcontent he still felt at their last parting, Steve made sure to carve out at least a second for him.

“It means a lot to him that you made it,” was all he could say as the un-pulped Avengers started filing into the hearing room. Strange had seemed about to turn heel and flee once again, but his eyes turned to Steve when he spoke. Somehow, he looked surprised that anyone had remembered that he’d even come. “You didn’t have to, in your… state.” The former surgeon shrugged lamely for him, but didn’t back away when Steve stepped closer to him.

They only had a couple of minutes, and he had the sneaking suspicion that when the hearing was over, Stephen wouldn’t be around. Neither waiting for someone to acclaim him for his contribution, nor to join them in the celebratory beers that were sure to follow. Steve was almost as sure that he wouldn't miss him as he was sure that he would on this occasion. The truth of the thought saddened him, even if he couldn’t put his thumb on why.

“What even happened?” he asked, his gaze lingering on the particularly nasty stripe - purple with a piano-wire line of red through the middle - that wound around his neck. It made his collar uncomfortably warm, the unjust upset he felt that seemingly no one, not even his teammates, had been there to help him. 

He hardly expected the other to answer, but after an equally hard look at his face, Stephen glanced away. He swallowed hard, and Steve wished that he wouldn’t have, given how much he imagined it pained him. His voice was raspy and hoarse when he spoke. 

“This one less problem in my world means a thousand less problems in yours.” 

The sorcerer retreated without another word, and Steve let him go. There was a gruesome goodbye in his tone, and it was none of his business even as one of the team leaders to prise it open. But even as he left, Steve felt like the distance between Strange and all of them wasn’t growing wider even in light of such cryptic statements.

That one sentence told him more than he’d ever recognized about the workload Stephen took on, and just how deeply he felt. For the world, for the Avengers.

And for Bucky, on top of all that.

“Alright, Cap,” Sam’s voice called from the threshold. “You ready?”

Keyholes, he thought again out of the blue as the last curl of red fabric disappeared in a wisp of sparks.

But where the keys to open the doors were hidden, he hadn’t the faintest.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to phase 2 of this rarepair triad in the making! I promise that the last chapter of _My Impersonal Life_ will come, but these two mini-fics come in sequence. So you can read this fic on its own, or consider Chapter 1 of this fic as happening between Chapters 1 and 2 of _MIL_. The complete triad get-together fic will proceed once both are completed. 
> 
> This piece is one of an ongoing series for this pairing (and the one it's building toward), but it's also a piece of a larger series of rarepair drabbles that I'm open to requests for! If you have an idea for a pairing, or an AU/prompt for one I have on the list of drabbles I'm planning on doing, you can shoot it my way over on [the tunglr](https://crypto-noms.tumblr.com/).


End file.
